


One Bite More

by Pinotnope (pinotnope)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breasts, Button Popping, Gaining, Incest, Light Feminization, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, breast-play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinotnope/pseuds/Pinotnope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows he's getting fatter. His jeans tell him that. His A-cup tits tell him that but he can't stop eating and he can't stop hoping. John notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Bite More

His new jeans have been too tight for weeks now. The third set of new jeans in less time than he cares to think about. He just about gets into them but they stretch wide and straining over his ass, make his thighs look enormous. He can barely admit to himself how much he likes it, the soft fold of his stomach marked with red lines from keeping it confined. Sometimes when he's alone, Sam in the living room doing his schoolwork and John on a hunt, he strips in front of an old cracked mirror and touches himself. Not his dick which now looks small and limp next to the solidness of his belly, that comes later. Instead he runs his fingers over the soft emerging flesh of his chest. Once he turned and stuck his belly out as far as he could in front of him, clasped an arm over his chest like some starlet on the cover of Playboy and rested a hand on his bump. He looks pregnant. He looks like every pie he'd ever eaten had settled on his hips, spread his ass and filled his belly. Jesus, he has breasts. Moobs maybe but they weren't, not really. Moobs were soft little rolls that old men had. Dean had A-cups and his nipples were hard. He touched them, pinched them until the nipples were dark and blood-flushed. Wet his fingers in his mouth and pulled them so they were slick looking like someone had chewed on them. Like someone had sucked his soft little tits into their mouth and tugged at them. He can imagine it if he thinks about it. A mouth tonguing his nipples, holding his little breasts, running over his belly, telling him how hot he looks like this. Two fingers pushing into his ass, spreading his cheeks, smacking them until the fat jiggled like it would never stop.

He can come like that now, humping desperately against the bed, a banana wedged up his ass, like he needs food in every hole. He likes it best when he can muffle himself with a twinky, shove something up his hole and rut against the bed as though he's actually full right up. He tells himself that he doesn't think of anything but he does. He thinks of being told what a fat ass he is, how big his belly is. He thinks of ten fat inches crammed up his ass, four of them inside, six of them being squeezed by his ass-cheeks, and ten fat inches crammed down his throat. But instead of spreading his legs for any cock that walks past he eats. He eats his way through every item on the McDonalds menu. When he can't stand how empty he feels, when he sees some chick with a rack the size of grapefruits compared to his own itsy bitsy handfuls, he buys a pint of heavy cream and drinks it right there outside the store.

His dad looks at him with disappointment and Dean wishes he was a better son. He'll lose the weight he tells himself. One day. In the meantime he eats barbeque with his fingers and tries to pretend he doesn't love the strain of his stomach against his shirt. Then it happens. Sam's out with a friend and John's drinking while he watches Dean polish off the pizza. He's eaten a whole one, oil hot on his fingers, pepperoni spicy on his tongue and he feels like he's going to pop the button on his jeans. So he sucks in, because that's where John's eyes are, on that round curve of Dean's belly and he isn't sure whether the heat in his stomach is shame or desire for that last slice on the table. His jeans don't pop though. He bends back his shoulders to stretch and the shirt gives it up, the top button pinging obscenely. Dean sinks his arms back down defensively to his sides and then realizes.

He has cleavage. His arms close by him are forcing the flesh together into a groove. John's still watching and the heat in his fat belly is definitely shame now but in for a penny in for a pound. He stretches again and his obscene tits get the second button as well. On a girl this top would be slutty. It is on Dean as well. He can see the curve of his own breasts, and John's eyes are riveted to them like he'd never have believed his son's tits would burst out of his shirt. Dean doesn't move. He doesn't think he can. As though the third button can't take the pressure of the silence or the weight of John's eyes it pings off as well. The shirt gapes open now. Dean's nipples can be seen, tight and hard against the softness of his chest.

John stands and Dean flinches back in his chair. What the hell had he done? He'd eaten like a pig. He'd burst out of his top, and he was sitting there shamelessly showing off a body that was in no condition to hunt, no condition to keep Sammy safe. Then John's hand  was in between the fabric casually weighing the weight of Dean's boob. His hand covers it entirely, secure and soft and then he pinches Dean's nipple. It's a twist of pain and Dean arches off his chair. John rips open the rest of the shirt, weighs them both in his hands. "B-cup I'd say," he says casually like this is normal. "Dark little nipples. You need a bra, boy. Liable to get yourself more than you want flaunting these little beauties." Dean thinks about it, lace and satin against his nipples. Holding his breasts up on a tray like he wants them to be touched.

Dean can't say anything and John seems to sense that. Instead he bends and just like Dean's dream he sucks in Dean's tit whole, mouths at the flesh, latches onto the nipple like he wants something from it. When he finally looks up, his mouth is greasy from the pizza still and Dean's nipple is shining. He spreads his legs, and feels hands go to his zipper. His belly floods out, pale and heavy like he's seven months gone. John brushes his fingers across the dip of his bellybutton, pushes it in, and pulls at Dean's breast with the other. Runs a finger down his sternum and Dean just waits. He wants John to pull out his dick and shove it between them. To open Dean's wet mouth and chase down the pizza with a dollop of cum. He wants all the things he's never let himself want. What he gets is his fingers folded over John's dick, heavy and hard and it's not ten inches but it's the next best thing, and then John's fingers on his face.

"Open up," he says and Dean does. The next bit of pizza goes in easily, and for a second he feels full.


End file.
